Artful thanks

We finished a late, full breakfast … pumpkin waffles, bacon, eggs.  After, I took the dogs for a much-needed walk.  Now I sit in Dad’s worn easy-chair with my laptop, next to the fireplace. The chair has the room’s best view of the lake. Cindy works a puzzle, Zach watches football and Meghan reads.

Thanksgiving Day at the cottage.

There’s risk in being here at times other than summer.  That’s because what has proved so magical over the years between May and September is far different the rest of the year … and so, perhaps, not as good.

But with this visit, different is good. 

First, the weather. Today’s a testament to its fickleness in November.  Yesterday, the sun poked through the clouds; temperatures were in the 50s – balmy for Northern Michigan.  By afternoon those clouds sunk low, a mix of fog and fine drizzle.  The lake was almost flat, the air nearly still. But by early morning Thanksgiving Day, winds rushed in from the north, beating back the timid, southern breeze.

So this morning, the waves are high, pounding the shore; howling gusts shake the birches. It’s cold and bracing outside, warm and inviting inside. A welcome contrast.

What you forget when you visit just once a year is that this place, and its people, exist year-round.  And the locals really own the entire experience; we merely sample it. Being here at Thanksgiving makes the point.

Last night we drove into Glen Arbor for dinner at Art’s Tavern. Along the way, we noticed how much easier it is to see through the woods.  The leaves are gone, the timber turned into fields of tall sticks – gray, brown and white.

Now we can see cabins and houses we never knew existed.  In some, the windows were lit – likely locals at home.  In others, the windows were dark, the buildings stark silhouettes.

Walking into Art’s is different, too.   In the summer it would be packed and loud, with even more folks waiting outside. Last night it was two-thirds full, the conversations more muted, but still warm and inviting. You could tell that most of the clientele were year-rounders.

Art’s owner moved from table to table, greeting friends.  His name is not Art; it’s Tim Barr. He’s a big-bellied man with white hair and a white beard and a cheery disposition. Last night, he wore a red shirt. A girl at the next table asked him if he was Santa Claus.  “Oh, no,” he chuckled.  Then he winked and said in a secretive voice, “But he’s my brother.”

Art’s is a tourist haven in the summer, with college pennants from every conceivable school wallpapered to the ceiling. I know where to find my favorites. 

But unlike other businesses that cater to tourists, Art’s doesn’t close up tight when the tourists go home.  Its rich, pine-paneled walls, its rustic booths and comfortable bar have served the locals well for years.

Few outsiders know how much history is in Glen Arbor. A touristy spot now, it was born of the lumber found in the heavy woods and the fish hauled from ice-blue Lake Michigan, which is just blocks away.

Settlers began coming here in the 1840s, doing trade with Native Americans camped nearby. But Glen Arbor really didn’t take shape as a fishing and lumber post until years later.

"By 1867, Glen Arbor Township had 200 people, three docks, two hotels, four stores, a blacksmith shop, and a cooper shop,” reports the Leelanau Historical Society. “Gordon Earle built a water-powered shingle mill in 1890, and J.O. Nessen erected a steam-powered lumber mill nine years later."

Frankly, Glen Arbor doesn't seem that much bigger these days. The population in the 2000 census was 788.  There's a main street – M-22 – and a smattering of quaint buildings on both sides of it.  The mills are long gone; small shops and newfound enterprises, such as food company Cherry Republic, dominate now.

Art’s Tavern is 75 years old this year. For years before that, it was called the Blue Goose Saloon by its founder, Frank Sheridan. It was renamed “Art’s” by Frank’s son, Art, who took over after his father was electrocuted in an accident in 1934.

Electricity has not been kind to the Sheridans. An electrical fire destroyed the tavern in 1950.  But Art rebuilt and reopened it the next year.  Tim bought the business in 2000.

Art’s, and all of Glen Arbor, takes Christmas seriously.  Tomorrow night there’s the township’s tree-lighting ceremony.  Tim has adorned the tavern outside with strings of lights, red-bulbed reindeer, a big “Happy New Year” and a giant peace sign.  Other businesses still open for the season also have decorated, though most feature simple white strands vs. Art’s eclectic, electric mix.

And there’s still plenty of cheer inside Art’s (beyond the paper "Ho Ho Ho!" affixed to the pine-paneled wall). Sure, times are tough in Michigan.  There are only 11,000 in this county’s labor force, and close to 1,000 are out of work – a rate of 9 percent.  But that compares well with the state’s overall jobless rate of 15 percent.

It’s the difference between summer and the rest of the year that is so good, so critical … that sustains Glen Arbor.  You see, tourist dollars flow heavily north in the summer, then recede.

Like the fishermen of old, the folks of Glen Arbor catch what money they can when the run is heavy.  And after, they come ashore and repair to Art’s, where they tip a few and watch the other seasons pass.

Last night, on Thanksgiving Eve, they seemed thankful to call Glen Arbor home.